


Ignore Me

by Pachipikachu



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Emotional, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Sewing, angst is the only thing I can write, i don’t know what i’m doing, is this Ao3 worthy, not really much shipping, probably not, this is angst right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 06:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18425037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pachipikachu/pseuds/Pachipikachu
Summary: Tom writes about his feelings, and sews his problems away.





	Ignore Me

**Author's Note:**

> I copied and pasted this from my wattpad, I felt like shit, so why not write?  
> also there isn’t /too/ much shipping, but wHatever—

/I talk too much, I think. The others don't seem to like it. When we would have conversations together, I'd try to shove my input in, just for it to go unnoticed. Then I'd try again, and be shushed by one of them because I talked too much. My fault for running my mouth off, I guess.

That's fine. I'm fine.

I've learned to just stay quiet. In the background. They don't need to hear me or know I'm there. I feel a bit left out, but that's my fault. Then the urge to just speak overpowers my desire to stay quiet. I try and talk, but realize that I've spoken too much, haven't I? It sounds nonsensical, I know. But everything I say is nonsensical, is it not?

They don't want me there, I think. They just keep me out of pity. I don't have anyone else to annoy with my voice, after all.

Sometimes I have things to rant about, but no one to rant to. Who would want to listen to the little attention whore for longer than 5 seconds? That's when I stay quiet. I could be roaring, crying, and wailing inside my mind while the others talk casually. And I couldn't let it out. It would annoy them after all. I'd probably just be doing it for attention, I don't have any mental problems after all.

I'm going too fast, huh? I'm speaking too much again. There are just so many words and yells and screams and screeches echoing that I just need to let out because they've been trapped for too long but the only people that would listen are the shadows and that would be sad don't you think?

That sounds edgy./

I sigh, staring at the messily scrawled words that have been a bit smeared from my hoodie sleeve. I click my royal purple pen close. I shut my journal. That's enough writing for today.

I think I wrote 'I think' too much.  
...  
Whatever.

I leave the bullet journal on my desk, my elegant journaling pens beside it. My friends don't know I like to write. They don't have to. I don't tell them.

I make my way out of my melancholy room, down the hall and into the kitchen where I heard voices talking excitedly. I enter swiftly and silently, passing by the trio at the table. Not one acknowledges I'm there. That's fine. I'm fine.

I open up the fridge and grab one of the few remaining bottles of Smirnoff. My friends have yet to notice me. Oh, I'm so narcissistic. Begging for attention without even begging. Asking for them even when I don't make an effort to get them.

I shut the refrigerator as quiet as I can. They don't need to know I was here at all.

I slip out of the kitchen and back into the comforts of my room. The dark blue envelopes me, and I immediately feel at home. I pop open the bottle and take a sip. The cold liquid slides down my throat, leaving a slight burning sensation in the back. A sigh of relief escapes me.

I take a few more sips and go back to my desk. I place the quarter-empty bottle beside me on the ground. I pick up a crimson pen and click it open. I start to write.

/What I wrote didn't make any sense before. None of this does, of course. It's hard to understand. I don't even understand.

From what I get from myself:  
I wish others would pay some attention to me.  
But at the same time, I don't want them to feel obliged to do so.  
So I opt for me becoming like a speck of dust on the wall. Forgettable. Easily able to be flicked away.

So I stay quiet, but I fail miserably at that.

I've made many experiments to see how the others react to my muteness, if you could call it that.

They don't notice for 2 hours. For 2 hours, I sat next to them while they talked and talked, only then noticing after I leave. "Hey, where has Tom been this whole time?"

They don't care. I shouldn't either, right? I'm probably just staying quiet to draw attention to myself, behind the reasoning of how I want the others to ignore me. I don't want to burden them with my problems, my insecurities, my fears. So, I stay quiet.

It hasn't worked. But I'll make it so I won't ever bother them again./

I close my pen with the cap. I close the journal with a smack. I slowly slide open my drawer to keep it quiet. I reach in and pull out a zip-lock bag with a few tools in it.

A needle.  
And some thread.

I take the needle and thread out with a steady hand. I take a breath and push the thread into the eye of the needle. I've been planning this for a few weeks. I've anticipated the pain I would feel. I don't care.

I walk over to a mirror I have in my room. I stare at my horrible reflection. I ready the needle near the corner of my mouth, a knot already tied at the end of the thread. I poke the tip into my flesh, not feeling much except a sting. I push it farther and farther, blood starts to well in the hole. My breath hitches. Just a bit further. I tense up as I feel the warmed metal poke out the other end of my skin. I push it more, blood filling my mouth and staining the thread. Soon enough, the whole needle is through to the other side. I open my mouth slightly, reaching for the needle. I take a hold of it and prod it into my bottom lip from the fleshy inside. I hold back a whimper. My hand starts to tremble.

I shake off my doubts and creeping regrets and push on. Piercing through to the other side of my skin, I pull the thread through carefully, the rough fibers rubbing painfully against my flesh. I keep going, pulling the needle along with the thread, until I feel a sharp jolt from the end-knot catching onto my flesh. It tugs uncomfortably, but I continue.

I repeat the process of piercing and sewing throughout my lips until I reach the end. There is still thread hanging out from one of the sewing from the corner of my mouth. I tie it up, double-knotting it to keep it secure and tight.

The thread pulls at my flesh, stretching it slightly. My mouth is caked in bloodstains and extra fibers from the thread.

I did it.  
I sewed my goddamn mouth closed.

I smile a bit before immediately returning to my neutral face. My lips were sore and swollen, throbbing with pain. I would get over it soon.

I reach into the plastic bag again, grasping a cloth-like material. Pulling it out, I examine the mask I held in my hands. It was a surgical mask, but black and had a checkerboard pattern lining the top. Like in Asia, the fashion trend of wearing cute masks. Except the reason for this one was far from cute.

I had a few other masks in the bag for later use, some had faces on them, a few just had shapes, like 'X's, others were just like the one in my hands. I quickly pull on the mask for a moment to pace to the bathroom. I needed to wash my face after all.

I rush in, locking the door behind me with a quiet /click!/  
I peel off the mask, which had already gotten soaked in blood. I crank the water on and splash the chilling liquid in my face, rinsing a bit of the crimson fluid that leaked from my mouth off. I throw more water in my face until almost all traces of blood are gone.

I rinse out my mask as well, it being able to dry quickly. I wring the water out, placing the mask on the sink counter. As I leave the mask to dry more, I open up the medicine cabinet to look for some ointment to make the process of making...this go more smoothly. I find some Neosporin to dab on my open wounds. I also find some gauze to prevent infection.

I smear the ointment on my mouth, getting in every stinging and swollen crevice that was created by the needle. It burns and stings, I can only let out small, pathetic moans of pain that rumble from my throat.

I grab the gauze squares and place them on the inside of the, now dry, mask. I keep them in place with some medical tape. I slip the mask back on, the gauze comfortably cushioning and pressing against my face. It squished the Neosporin around, but it's fine.

I carefully leave the bathroom, tucking all the medical supplies I used, away. I stare down at the ground, contemplating whether I made the right choice. As I trudge down back to my room, I bump into an interruption. A red body.  
"Hey, look where you're going." Tord says irritably. I simply bow my head a bit as a sorry. He looks at me with a questioning glare.

"What're you wearing?" He asks skeptically. I just walk away without a second glance. I could feel his stare on me as I retreat into my safe haven. I shut the door and walk over to my desk, once again. I grab a new colored pen and pull the cap off. It's emerald green. I start writing.

/It's been done. No going back now. Might as well write all my regrets about this here.

1\. I can't eat too large solids. Only liquids from now on.  
2\. The string tugs painfully every time I so much as twitch my mouth.  
3\. They could find out any day now.

Any day.  
They're suspicious already./

I get cut off by myself. Tears falling and plopping onto the paper, making it wet, soggy, staining the paper black. How did this happen? I wasn't even sa-

More tears stream down my face. My body doesn't agree with my thoughts, I guess. I let out a sigh, muffled by my mask. I wipe my face with one sweep of the arm. Alcohol should help fix my muddled emotions, right? Sure. It always does.

I pick up my abandoned bottle of vodka and trudge down to the kitchen. No one's there except for Matt, who was sitting on the living room couch, watching 'The Children'. He ignores me. Good.

I open up a cabinet and pull out a crucial thing, now that my mouth is like this. It's a bendy straw. This is how I'm going to consume all the nutrients I need. Through a bendy straw. Great life.

I insert the straw into the top of the bottle. Heading back up to my room, I quickly rush in. I slip off my mask and open my mouth, just a little bit. Good thing I left the thread loose enough for me to allow a straw in my mouth. Enough for whispers. Enough to breathe.

I take a sip, sighing in relief at the comfort drink. I go for another sip before I get interrupted by a knock. I quickly slip the mask back on and walk over to the door, bottle in hand.

Opening the door with a creak, I am faced with a slightly concerned Tord and Edd.  
"Tom, uh- we just wanted to know..are...are you okay?" Edd asks hesitantly. I nod.  
"Why are you...wearing that mask? Are you sick or something?"  
Or something. I nod.

"Can you talk, Thomas?" Tord says, a bit annoyed. Shake of the head.  
"Why not?"  
"Tord, it's probably because he has a sore throat, jeez." Edd answers for me. I nod.

"Whatever, dinner is in a few minutes." Tord grumbles. Edd walks out, and I catch a worried glance from him. I wave a goodbye to them as they shut the door. I let out a small, muffled sigh, and go back to my desk with my beloved Smirnoff. I open up my journal and grab another colored pen. What can I say? I love gel pens. This time, it's navy blue.

/Here's a list of beautiful words that I can't share with my friends anymore:

Selenophilia- a love for the moon.  
Luminous- radiating, shining or reflecting light.  
Illuminate- to light up.  
Alluring- attractive, enrapturing.  
Faith- trust that you put in a person or a thing.

My friends probably don't have faith in me./

I shut the book once more and pull my mask off. Taking a large sip from the vodka, I let out a sigh. Sad, I can't chug alcohol anymore.

"THOMAS, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!" I hear an angered Tord call from the kitchen. Put the mask on, slip out from my room and down to where my friends are.  
"Fucking finally," Tord grumbles. Why is he so angry today?

"Here, Tom, I got some soup for you." Edd gently passes me a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I nod and take the bowl.  
"Wait- aren't you eating here?" Matt asks, confused. I give him a tired look.  
"He can eat in his room if he wants, hope you get better, Tom." Edd says. I nod at him with a thankful look.

"You're spoiling him, Edd." Tord mumbles. I ignore his comment and make my way back to my room. I grab the straw from the Smirnoff and use it to drink the soup. Pretty good. I continue to sip on the hot soup, relaxing as I do so.

The tranquility is interrupted by my door slamming open, causing me to jump and spill the little soup that was left. I shove the mask back on my face and look towards the door.  
"Okay, Tom, cut the shit. What did you do?" Tord asks- more demands, menacingly. I feel a shudder trickle down my spine. I tilt my head in a confused glance.

He stomps towards me and glares deep into my soul. I take a small, shivering breath as I stiffen and fall backwards on the floor. He reaches for my face and in an instant, rips off my mask. My hand fly up to cover my still-open wounds as I push myself into the wall.  
"Thomas, pull your hands away." Tord growls. I shake my head, tears threatening to spill from my sockets. He drops the mask and grabs my wrists, clutching so tightly that it felt like they were about to snap.

He yanks my arms away and I throw my head to the side, anything to stop him from seeing what I did. Tears quickly sliding down my face, I hear a small gasp that seems so far away. I start trying to breath, the strings refusing me any large amounts of air. Resulting in me hyperventilating.

My vision starts to blur, either from tears or lack of oxygen, I don't know. I feel my body sway while my head thunders in pain. I try to take larger breaths, only resulting in shuddering gasps. Hiccups, sobs wrack my body as I lose my grip on reality.

He found out. He fucking found out. Not even a day and I've already ruined everything I've tried to keep a secret because I just couldn't shut my damn mouth they found out because I was so uselesssouselesssouselessIcan'tevenstayquiettomyownsecretsit'sjustsoloudsoloudI'msofuCKINGLOUD—

I feel warmth slide around my body, engulfing me in a tight hold. On the verge of passing out, my vision starts to clear and refocus slightly as the excess tears drip out. The storm of a headache remains.  
"T-Tom, why- why would you—" I cut off the voice with a sob, pressing my face into a red fabric that is his clothing. I soak Tord's red hoodie in inky black tears as I clench my 'eyes' close.

I start mumbling incoherent things. Quiet, small, insignificant. Pleads, I just plead because I don't want to be sent away they're going to call me crazy insane they'll give me meds but there's nothing wrong please don't tell Edd or Matt please I'm not crazy don't tell them please please please—

He just holds me closer, tighter. Only now do I realize how I'm stretched over his lap and up to his chest vertically. He lets out a small sigh and pulls me into his lap. I basically straddle him as I cry into his left shoulder. He hugs me around my waist, resting his chin on my right shoulder. I clutch the bundles of red fabric in my grasp as if they were my only link to reality.

He puts his hands underneath my thighs, lifting me up as he stands. I hold on tighter to his chest, wrapping my legs around his hips to keep from falling. He tosses me a bit to get a better grip on me. I keep my death-grip on him. I think my knuckles are turning white.

With his head already right beside mine, he whispers into my pierced ear with a husky voice:  
"You know we have to show this to Edd, right?" Sorrow barely kept out of his tone. I nod lightly, still keeping my head buried in his shoulder. Tears still pouring down my face. He starts to walk towards the open and lit up entrance of my room.

Everything seemed muffled from then on. I vaguely hear a shout of worry. Some explanation here and there. Me attempting to be pried away from Tord. Me struggling to hold on to my anchor. Me screeching, crying, wailing, pleading to just hold on please just ignore me ignore me ignoremeI'mnotimportant—

A calloused hand grasps my smaller one, warm comforting words being spoken into my ear. Deep, soothing, melodic, even. I gradually feel pinpricks of pain stabbing into my mouth. It's warm and wet and- is this blood?  
"Tom, calm down, stop trying to talk, you're ripping those beautiful lips of yours." The voice whispers into my ears. I nod, very slightly. Worried whispers and and fearful mumbles start to finally register around me.

"What do we do?" I hear, what sounds like, Matt ask.  
"Tom," Edd starts softly. "Wh- why would you do this?" The question that Tord failed to ask before. I don't have an answer short enough for them. I just give a small shrug. The blood drips down my chin, onto my lap. A lot gets in my mouth, spreading the metallic taste across my palate.

Edd lets out a sigh as I feel Tord press a paper towel against my face, burning pain pulses from my lips.  
"Tom, you know we care about you, right? You're so important to us, and don't you dare think otherwise." Tord tells me with a gentle voice. I nod weakly as he continues to clean my face.

I take a small breath and whisper out:

/"Thank you,"/

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this oneshot, kudos and comments are much appreciated!  
> lAme ending, I know. first thing I post on Ao3, I hope it’s decent


End file.
